


Gone

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: hp_wishes, Deathfic, F/M, Funeral, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was wrong.  He wasn’t <i>supposed</i> to be gone so soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

It was an exceptionally bright and sunny day for England in September. The last vestiges of summer were playing out around them, and though there was a nip in the autumn air, the warmth of the sunlight negated the chill that the breeze blew in. In a nearby tree, birds chirped happily, singing song back and forth between a male and his mate.

Pansy wanted nothing more than to send two quick Killing Curses at them, just to shut them up.

It wasn’t _supposed_ to be sunny. It was supposed to be dark and gloomy, typical weather for England. There should be booming thunder, flashes of lightning, pouring rain. The sun should be hiding its face from her, terrified into submission behind gray clouds. Instead, it beamed cheerily for all to see.

Ron had loved sunny days.

Those were some of the days she had loved spending with him the most. When the sun’s rays shone _just_ the right way on his flaming-red hair, it illuminated the strands of gold that were normally hidden. She had loved sitting in the garden at Parkinson Manor with his head in her lap, letting her fingers sift through the long strands. The two of them had lain in the grass for countless hours, idling the time away by just being _together_.

Now, the sunshine was nothing more than a bitter reminder of what she’d lost.

This was _wrong_ , the thought seizing upon her suddenly. She… _he_ wasn’t supposed to be here. It had been his off-weekend, for Merlin’s sake! They were supposed to have been in Nice, lounging on the French Riviera. She would have teased him for his lack of refinement, and he would- like he always did- just roll his eyes while he cast Sunscreen Charms on her pale back.

And now he was gone, stolen from her before they’d had any _real_ time together.

 

  
**  
_He was my North, my South, my East and West_   
**   


 

“Ashes to ashes…”

The Ministry official was speaking as the remaining Weasley brothers- Bill, Charlie, Percy and George- began to lower the polished wooden coffin into the ground. Across the grave site from her, Ginny was clutching onto her father’s arm while her Molly openly cried; great, heaving sobs racked her body as she watched another one of her sons be buried. Potter held onto her hand, his green eyes solemn.

She wouldn’t cry, though. Pansy _couldn’t_ cry. She had shed all the tears her eyes were physically capable of producing. Besides, her Ron wasn’t in that box. He was gone, free; his spirit was amongst them even now.

But he would never come back to her.

On one side, Draco stood stoically, his gray eyes fixed upon the wooden casket. It was a testament to his love for her that he was even there at all; even though his feud with Potter had cooled with time, the same could not be said for his relationship with Ron. They had reached an accord of sorts solely for Pansy’s benefit, but she was not stupid. She knew that the animosity between the two men still ran deep.

Pansy felt the slightest pressure on her hand, and she glanced to the other side to look at Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy, her stomach ever-so-swollen in the telling bump of pregnancy. Astoria was one of her oldest friends, and despite the tensions that had arisen after her father had announced her betrothal to Draco, she had never strayed from Pansy’s side.

She managed a small, weak twitch of her lips for Astoria before she turned back to face the ceremony. She had _wanted_ that with Ron, had wanted the wedding, the family, the suicide-inducing holidays with his relatives. And they would have had it, too.

 _Glancing down, she felt a pang in her chest at the sight of her diamond engagement ring._

 _  
_Pansy’s breath caught in her throat as she stared down at Ron- or, more specifically, at the diamond ring he held in one hand. It wasn’t anything grand; just a simple diamond solitaire, but she couldn’t remember seeing any jewel so beautiful in her entire life._   
_

_His hand was trembling as he took hers, smoothing one thumb over her knuckles. “Pansy,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite his evident nerves, “I know I don’t have the material wealth that you’re used to. I don’t have much money, and I don’t have a house near as grand as yours, but I can offer you this. I will love you more than any other person on earth, for now and for always. Will you marry me?”_

 _“Yes,” she breathed, unable to keep a stupid, happy grin off her face. “Oh Ron, **of course** I’ll marry you.”_

 _And when he slid the ring on her finger, Pansy was the happiest she’d ever been in her entire life._

 

  
**  
_My working week and my Sunday rest_   
**   


 

Only the soft murmur of voices and the slight movement of bodies around her pulled Pansy out of her reverie, and she gave a slight start when she realized that the service was over. People were leaving, going back to their lives after this momentary interruption. It was the circle of life, and it continued to move on for everyone. Babies would grow up to adults, they would get married, and then they would die. It was just how things were.

But this? This was an unnatural disruption in that cycle; Ron had been _young_ , only twenty-four! He hadn’t had time to really _live_ , and now he was gone.

“Go on,” she murmured when she felt another tug on her hand. “I’ll be along later.”

Astoria didn’t say anything, but words weren’t needed. One tiny hand reached up under Pansy’s black veil to wipe an unnoticed tear away from her porcelain pale skin, and she gave her friend a soft smile as she wiped the tear on the sleeve of her dress.

Pansy managed a nod as she squeezed and then released her friend’s hand. She didn’t want this, the constant press of hands and hugs, sympathetic voices murmuring things like, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” and, “Are you alright?” What the bloody hell were they thinking? _Of course_ she wasn’t alright.

She had to quirk a small, ironic smile at that thought. Before she’d involved herself with Ron Weasley, the words ‘bloody hell’ hadn’t been in her vocabulary. It was just another reminder of how intertwined her life was with his.

She didn’t need the reminders, though. The hole where her heart used to be was reminder enough.

Her mind was vaguely aware of the people who stopped by to murmur some small condolence at her loss; Xenophilus and Luna Lovegood, both startlingly somber, Potter and the Mud… Granger- despite Ron’s insistence, Pansy had yet to bring herself to call the Mudblood by her given name. Bill and Fleur stopped to speak for a moment, and she was surprised to feel genuine emotion when the blonde half-Veela gave her a hug. She liked Bill and Fleur and their little bilingual daughter, Victoire. She would miss them.

Her surprise was even greater, though, when Molly stopped to wrap her arms tightly around Pansy. Ron’s mother was a head shorter than she, and her tears ran openly onto Pansy’s designer robes. At the moment, though, she didn’t care. Mrs. Weasley had not been silent in her opposition to their relationship, and only in the last month had she started to warm to her.

Pulling away, she reached up and patted Pansy’s cheek, much like a mother would to a child. Her brown eyes were full of tears, mourning the second son whose life was claimed by dark wizards.

“He loved you, you know,” she said matter-of-factly, “so much.”

“I know,” Pansy whispered.

 

  
_  
**My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song**   
_   


 

It felt like hours, though it really was only about ten minutes before the last guest left the cemetery, but finally, Pansy was alone. Well, she wasn’t entirely alone.

“You two are bloody menaces,” she said, tilting her face up to fix the singing birds with a withering glare.

The birds, however, weren’t listening and continued to chirp merrily as if they’d not a care in the world.

She fingered her wand but chose to ignore them, sparing their little lives for the moment. They were nothing more than a distraction, albeit an unwelcome one, and it was helpful to channel her emotions into any other venue but crying.

The marble headstone sat at the head of the fresh mound of dirt, next to an older, well-maintained grave. Fred, Ron’s brother who’d died in the Final Battle. She hadn’t known him, but Ron had spoken of his quick wit, his trickster tendencies, and how he’d been the other half to George.

“So,” she said nonchalantly, toeing off her black leather pumps, “this is how it’s going to end, I suppose.” Her hands slid to the clips in her hair, fingers deftly undoing them so she could pull the black hat and veil away from her face. She let it fall to the fresh dirt with nary a thought; she _hated_ hats.

Her expression was wry as she reached into her black clutch and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. “Do you recognize this, darling?” she asked the grave marker. “You were working on this when Potter Flooed for your help. No? Let me jog your memory.”

Opening the parchment, she read aloud, “To Kinglsey Shacklebolt, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I, Ronald Billius Weasley, do hereby resign as Auror effective immediately.” Her grip on the page tightened, as if by holding onto it, she could hold onto _him_.

“You weren’t supposed to go,” she whispered, dropping to her knees in the dirt. Under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near dirt, but circumstances changed a person. Ron’s death had changed _her_. “You were supposed to join the Cannons. I was supposed to mock you for their garish orange robes and the way they clashed with your hair. We were going to get married, have _children_ : little ginger Slytherins with your eyes and your smile and my brains.”

A few tears fell down her face as she crawled to the headstone, letting her cheek rest against the cool marble. Her body was spread out over Ron’s grave, and the fresh dirt and moisture from the earth seeped into the material of her robes, wiggling between her bare toes and fingers.

“We were going to grow old together,” she whispered as she started to cry. “You were going to be nice to Draco, and I was going to be nice to your harpy of a sister. Merlin, I’d even let _Potter_ be our firstborn’s godfather, just _please come back_.” The desperation was thick in her voice as the tears ran fast down her cheeks, dropping off to hit the dirt with a series of _plops_. Her fingers curled in the dirt beneath them, working her finely-manicured nails into a grimy and dirty mess. It didn’t matter anymore.  
Nothing mattered anymore.

“I hate you, Ron Weasley,” she whispered. “But I will always love you.”

 

  
_  
**I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong**   
_   


**Author's Note:**

> This was written for seraphimerising as part of her Wish List at hp_wishes, and the verses quoted within come from the poem “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden.


End file.
